


Punished Perfection and Functional Weakness

by strikeyourcolors



Series: Control(led) Issues [7]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Anal Sex, Bruises, Caning, Consensual Kink, Dysfunctional Relationships, Feelings, Light BDSM, M/M, Minor Violence, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 07:59:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11963103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikeyourcolors/pseuds/strikeyourcolors
Summary: Upon reflection, Jason realizes he has to drag Dick down to make himself better. Dick is more than happy to comply; he's all about protecting Jason's interests, even over his own. No one ever really defined what functionality had to look like.





	Punished Perfection and Functional Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> Take a look at the tags before you get in too deep. This is more the sexual aspect than the emotional one in this relationship. Sexual and consensual violence are present, as well as a little mention of blood though that doesn't become a focal point. 
> 
> Read the earlier installments of the series if you haven't already; otherwise you'll be dropped in the middle!
> 
> Sometimes Dick just doesn't know what's good for him...

Dick is torn. Between what to tell Bruce and how to protect Jason. And he and Bruce haven't had the best relationship lately and yet it still feels like a betrayal, refusing to tell him about the son he lost. The son he now sees as an enemy. Which is, Dick supposes, the heart of the issue. He would be happy to talk about Jason if only Bruce didn't seem likely to haul him away for murder. 

Jason is a murderer. Dick is accepting that too and wonders if it's wrong of him to simply not think about it. 

“This and that,” Dick replies, and realizes he should have played dumb a moment after. Bruce didn't _know_ with certainty that he and Jason had spoken. He couldn't have. But Dick has already confessed, falling into the same trap that's worked since he was twelve years old. Maybe he really is stupid. Maybe being trusting really is a weakness. “I can say you probably wouldn't be interested in most of it.” That's putting it mildly. Dick feels his stomach do a somersault at the idea that he might have to describe any of that to Bruce. That Jason called him a slut or that he cried for Jason to fuck him?

“You would be surprised,” Bruce replies in a manner that suggests he can't possibly know what dick is thinking about. It's relieving to know that the man isn't a mindreader. Not entirely, anyway. “Any clue for what he's planning? What he's thinking?” He pauses. “Why is he coming to you?”

He sounds almost jealous. Almost. Dick presses a hand against his forehead. He forces a bit of cereal into his mouth and crunches it viciously in the hopes it will make him seem casual and also annoy Bruce enough to get off the phone. “Worried that he's approaching me and not you?”

“You sound just like him.” And Bruce doesn't seem pleased by it. Dick himself isn't sure if it should be a compliment or if he should worry that Jason's attitude is slowly imparting itself onto his psyche. Dick and Bruce had their growing pains long before Jason arrived. Sometimes Dick thinks Bruce likes to forget that all together. He likes to pin all his problems with troublesome teenagers on the second son, not the first. 

Dick racks his mind. He wishes he weren't so exhausted. Wishes he weren't so well fucked. He can share one of those things. “He told me I'm running myself ragged. Told me I should get some sleep.”

“So he can commit more crimes without your interference,” Bruce suggests. 

“I don't think so,” Dick argues and tries to keep the offense out of his tone. “Look, Bruce. When we get together? It's really not to discuss a whole lot of business. I'm pretty sure we had an hour long conversation about how to make a decent cheeseburger and the toppings that should go on it.” 

Bruce isn't swayed by the temptation to ask what they'd decided as to cheeseburgers. “An hour is a long conversation. It's a lot of time you're spending with him. To what end?”

Like Dick doesn't ask himself that question every time he sees Jason. Like he doesn't imagine happy futures. Like he doesn't fear the world burning around them because happy endings aren't a guarantee. “I like his company. We don't sit around and talk about the old days. Honestly they were kind of shitty for us both. But I like getting to know him now.” As personal as he's willing to get, as open, and he doubts that Bruce will accept it.

It takes nearly a full hour, but Bruce slowly gives in. Dick has to hang up on him twice and he's pretty sure Alfred is intervening, but Bruce backs off on wanting to know every detail about Dick and Jason's interactions and that's a relief because there are certain things Dick never wants to talk about to Bruce. Ever. 

He drops tidbits here and there once Bruce calls back. Jason had a cold. Jason let a drug dealer go without killing him. Jason is getting better, Dick promises, and he knows that Bruce wants to suck the optimism right out of him but somehow refrains. The calm, controlled “Be careful.” is almost enough to make him do so. 

Bruce wants to hope Jason will get better. Jason will be soothed. Jason will return to them. Jason can't hope, though, so Dick hopes enough for both of them. 

~*~*~

“He's talking to someone,” Dick tells Barbara during their coffee date close to a month after the unfortunate conversation with Bruce. That Barbara had made sure to inform him wasn't really a date in the traditional sense so much as an appointment for them both to keep. It stings a little. Seeing Barbara moving on, happy and more functional than Dick thinks he will ever be. He's happy for her but there's part of him selfishly annoyed at how she responds to his flirting now with playful jabs instead of shy swoons. He's moved on with his life, it's only logical she has to, but the reminder is still sometimes something bitter. Their coffee dates help. “Like, professionally talking to someone,” He adds when Babs looks completely unimpressed. 

“Like a psychiatrist?” Barbara prompts, lips against the rip of her cup a moment after but blue eyes intense on his face. 

“Therapist. One of Alfred's old war buddies, however weird that is. Alfred told me that he specializes in PTSD from being an active combatant. Wouldn't tell me anything else.” Dick pouts. His ears are still burning from the scolding Alfred gave him for trying to cajole the information out of him. “He informed me that if Master Jason wished to discuss the details of the conversations with himself or anyone else he would do so.”

“He's right,” Barbara answers and Dick pouts even harder and soothes his feelings by sticking the lower half of his face in the whipped cream floating on the surface of his drink. Barbara purses her lips to not laugh. Truthfully this entire thing has been a bit jarring. From finding out Jason was alive to finding out he was a hostile agent that Batman wanted to bring to justice. She still has images in her head of a little boy with an infectious grin and a desperate need to be accepted. She remembers, too, the few cruel things she'd said to him. Dick's too busy flagellating himself for her to dare asking about things like that.

“I just want to know,” Dick argues. “I just want to help.”

Barbara places her hand gently over his, giving his fingers a squeeze. “I know.” And that's Dick's problem. He wants to help so much he forgets what actually might be best. “But it's a personal thing. I went to therapy. I still go. It's not something I like to talk about even now but I didn't tell anyone except my dad for _months_ , Dick. Just be glad he's going.” 

He tries to be glad for that. Honestly, he does. Jason has improved slowly. Jason smiles more. Jason is all together a calmer person which admittedly isn't saying much. Dick's still found a couple of rapists with their faces smashed in by Red Hood but at least he hadn't completely pulverized their skulls. He changes the subject with Barbara, off of Jason. He still wants to think and there are some things that should remain private. 

Jason doesn't so much go to therapy as set up a video feed with his therapist. It works, from what Dick has seen. It makes Jason feel safe and in his own territory, with the ability to turn off the session with a click of a button though he's advised not to do that and, weirdly, Dick hasn't heard about him hanging up recently. Of course it would take Jason telling him that and Jason mostly avoids the topic. 

But Jason is _functional_. There are still bad days, but somehow even on those nights Dick can catch a glimpse of Jason in the distance letting him know he's alright. The nights that are good are the two of them cutting up like Dick swears they used to and Jason promises him they never did. Red Hood and Nightwing never touch more than a hug, always initiated and pretty much forced by Dick. But Dick had wanted to talk, and that's what they do. Usually. They've scuffled once over the fate of some drug dealers and Jason had slapped him. Dick had felt his cock go hard against him, saw that stricken look Jason got, and he disappeared again for a few days. 

In a way, Dick's glad that Jason still can literally get a hard on for him. In another way he's concerned because Jason seemed to balk at it. 

“You know,” Dick says casually one night. “You've never hurt me sexually. Like when we're doing those things. I've always liked what you did to me.” 

Jason looks at him and there's a crease between his eyes that Dick knows means he's thinking and doesn't like his thoughts. 

“Forget it,” Dick said lightly with a shrug he doesn't really mean. “I just thought you should know.” Jason nods and, for once, they drop the subject. 

Jason being functional and making progress is a good thing. It frees up time for Dick to bond with Tim. He avoids Bruce and Bruce avoids him. They're not past their own issues enough to talk about Jason's without coming to blows. The very fact that Bruce has backed off leads Dick to believe he's being fed information from another source. He'd accuse Alfred if he didn't know Alfred would never betray Jason. He might love him more than anyone else. 

Tim soothes Dick's wounded ego. He's always there to look at him adoringly or be thrilled when Dick takes him out for pizza and arcade games. Dick sometimes feels guilty when he watches Tim destroy his competition in a fighting game and thinks about what Jason's doing. He feels worse when Tim look at him with those knowing eyes and asks if he can help. 

Jason was Tim's Robin. Dick tries not to forget that. Tim wants to retrieve the good parts about Jason. He wants what he remembers rather than the shell that came back, older and angrier. Aware of Tim's existence but not in the way Tim had always dreamed. The kid has had some really rough blows and he keeps moving. Dick gives him credit for that. 

"Do you think it will work? Do you think he can get better?" Tim asks him as he drops him off outside the manor. Dick knows Bruce is home, so Dick doesn't come in. Like a divorced couple with shared custody of their child, and Dick grimaces because he hates putting Tim in the middle of it all. The kid might fight crime and put his life in danger, but that doesn't mean he should have to navigate the social mine field all of them put him in. 

But it's not Bruce that Tim is worried over. Jason's name still hasn't been spoken aloud between the two of them. Dick knows it's something Tim does to keep secrets from Bruce. "I don't know," He admits honestly and leans in for a hug. Tim stiffens, Tim always does since physical affection hadn't been a staple in the Drake household, but then relaxes into the hold.

"I hope he does," Tim says softly and there's a little bit of fire in those ocean blue eyes and a little smirk on his lips that Dick debates between approving of or warning him it will get him killed. 

"Me too." That's an easy enough agreement. "But better not to bring it up around certain people, yeah?" He thinks Alfred had rather them not discuss Jason in unflattering terms. He _knows_ Bruce prefers they not discuss Jason at all unless entirely necessary. 

"I'm not an amateur," Tim replies with a roll of his eyes, smoothing his hair back down where Dick's hand has ruffled it during the hug. "Sometimes I just...want to say it out loud. To someone." 

“I know the feeling,” Dick admits. He knows it too well. There had been literal years of not talking to Bruce about Jason when he was dead. Then there were months of not talking to Bruce about Jason when he was alive. A million little things you didn't say to the Bat, lest you risk being frozen out more than you already were. Alfred's tried to explain it. Dick's heard him even scolding Bruce for it a few times. It still doesn't help completely. 

Even with that dark cloud lingering in his memory, Dick spends his trip back to Bludhaven thrilled that Tim trusts him enough to tell him these things. There's a touch of guilt because of what he's hiding from the rest of his family. His relationship with Jason is dangerous to them all. He's selfish and stupid, thinking he can hide what's going on between them. He will stop what he has with Jason. He will let Jason heal, and recover. 

Of course all of that flies out the window when he enters his apartment to a note casually stuck on the kitchen table that only reads _My place. Tonight._  

He's weak. Dick knows he's weak. Jason tells him even now, regularly, that he has a weak heart. Bruce has told him over and over how he is weak. He's listed his flaws, numbered them, and Dick knows he's never quite corrected them all. What does a weak man do when he's called except show up?

Jason snags him before he even gets to the room where Jason spends most of his time. Dick is a little giddy, thrilled with the way Jason's warm hands slide under his clothes (No Nightwing. He can't risk it in this area anymore) and pull him along a hallway. It's like a romantic comedy and waiting will be a bubblebath and candles. 

There's no candles. There's no bath. The room has nice hardwood floors with only a few scratches and plantation shutters on the windows. But it's unfurnished

They kiss, and Dick feels that tightness in his chest ease up. He's wondered in his darker, more bitter moments if Jason has told the therapist about him. He wonders in worse times when the days stretch on with the barest acknowledgment from Jason if the therapist has realized how badly he wants to be the one to help Jason and told his patient to avoid him. He wants Jason to be better. To get better. He wants to guide Jason back to light and life and the people who love him. But Dick very selfishly doesn't want to lose Jason in the process.

He's been told he's more optimistic than Bruce. Brighter. That much is true because Dick has always had to be a balance for that darkness. He's always have to believe things get better because they have gotten better for him. But then people say his thoughts don't take him to those dark places like Bruce's do. That somehow being more optimistic means being all together happier. That's a lie as much as anything ever is and Dick is all too aware in moments like this. It's just that he's better at hiding the thoughts. He's better at pretending to be happy and upbeat. And Jason knows that. Jason sees through that. Jason always has. 

Jason kisses him like a drowning man, though. Rough teeth and tongue until Jason smooths out the practice, until when he pulls back to take Dick's shirt off Dick is chasing after him for more of his lips. It leaves a pleasant tingle behind that Dick knows is flesh suffering from Jason's teeth but it feels so good. So perfect. Dick doesn't want to admit how afraid he is to lose Jason all over again. 

"You're my trigger," Jason whispers and it sounds as loving as if he'd just asked him to marry him. "The thought of how you were, then. Perfect and untouchable. Those flips were no trouble for you. Taking down a bad guy was never an issue and you never, ever crossed the line that the Bat set for you. A perfect child."

It's not how Dick remembers it. There had been tumultuous enough times for him to leave, after all. But he doesn't argue. He helps Jason get his pants off and somewhere, some part of his brain is screaming. Jason is tensed. Jason is angry or nervous or _something_ and the part of his mind that is trained to recognize danger is calling out for him to run. Dick, as always, silences that part when he's with Jason under the blind faith that Jason would never hurt him that way. Not like this. Not without a fair fight. "You were great," Dick says clumsily when he realizes Jason has gone quiet. "You _are_ great."

Jason laughs. His large hand cups Dick's ass and Dick grinds against him. Desperate and obedient and he wasn't aware going without Jason for less than a month could do this to him. But there's a thread of danger in that laugh, too. "Dead people were always great," Jason replies. "But not as great as you." And from his tone, Dick knows it's not a compliment. It's confirmed when Jason releases him, yanks his pants down quickly enough that Dick barely gets a hand in to protect his half hard penis from coming to harm, and gestures to a bar bolted into the wall. "Go over there. Back to me. Hold the bar." 

Dick hesitates. Sweet Jason and angry Jason in rapid succession has him off guard. "You can leave," Jason tells him and even now Dick isn't sure if Jason is threatening him or offering him a way out. From the flash of conflict in the younger man's eyes, neither is Jason.

It's that humanity that has Dick obeying. He shivers at the chilled air as he lifts his arms over his head to grip the bar. A pull-up bar, probably. "Is this how you get all buff on me, Little Wing? I'm going to have to get you to overhaul my home gym." 

Jason gives a snort of amusement that goes miles as far as soothing Dick's nerves. "Spread your legs. You can hold your arms how you want them as long as your hands stay on the bar." Which limits Dick. He automatically wants to hold the metal like a trapeze bar. Something familiar and (not unironically) grounding to him. But he doesn't want that feeling tangled up in this one. His heart is pounding. Each rush of blood feels like it goes to his slowly filling dick. He flexes to the balls of his feet, wondering what Jason has in mind. 

"I punish myself," Jason says softly, coming up behind him so he can feel the heat of his body. "Because I couldn't punish you. I couldn't make you worse but I could make myself better." He presses a kiss under Dick's jaw before he moves away. "Face the wall."

It sounds like a lecture Bruce would give. It doesn't sound all that wrong, either, but the tone Jason's using means it's not a fond memory. Dick has picked up on that. The difference in Jason remembering something he liked and something he didn't. Not all memories are good, to him. Dick thinks, sometimes, of times he'd made his parents angry with him or moments that were less than ideal. He wraps them around him because at least he _remembers_ them. The way his father's eyebrows became so animated as he yelled or how his mother picked apart her cuticles when she was nervous. 

Jason forgets. Tries to forget. Jason blocks it out and Dick's been cautioned time and time again that it's not fair to make him talk about any of it. Dick wonders what has been rolling around in his head lately, to set him on this path. It hadn't been long ago Jason was taking care of him. 

A sharp, loud snap has Dick jerking back to reality. He turns to look over his shoulder to see the flash of something in Jason's hand. A stick? No, Dick realizes as things fall into place. A _cane_. It looks good quality. It doesn't look wet. Both of those are good things if he's about to get hit by it. 

"I'm tired of punishing myself, you know," Jason tells him and only Jason could manage to sound so tired and so playful in the same moment. "Now we're all grown up, right Dickiebird? Now I can punish you for always being so perfect back then. You're certainly full of flaws now. Turn around."

Dick turns to face the wall and he barely has his gaze focused on the paint when the cane cracks across his thighs. It startles a cry out of him and he barely has time to recover before pain flares over his ass. Dick gasps again, trying to process the sensation. He's trained to withstand a lot worse; he's had a lot worse. This is still unique. 

"Going to be loud for me?" Jason asks and he's grinning. Dick knows it. "I like that. If you're nice and loud I might go easy on you. Wouldn't want to make the Golden Boy turn black and blue, right?" He pauses and gives a bark of laughter at his own joke. "Though I guess you did that to yourself." 

Dick groans and only part of it has to do with the ache that settles in him. "Are you going to do your stand up routine all night? Because that might be more painful than-OW!" He reconsiders what is more painful when the cane strikes again. And again. Jason is whipping him with it in earnest now and Dick isn't sure what he thinks.

It hurts. Obviously. The pain is sharper and deeper and more focused than when Jason spanked him. There's no way Jason is using his full strength and that's a relief for more than one reason. Dick finds out that moaning or yelping or even, embarrassingly enough, squeaking makes the sensation change. It's still painful but it's painful _good_ on top of that. He can hear Jason's breath catch. He can almost feel those teal eyes boring into the back of him.

It hasn't taken Dick long to realize he has some power, even like this. He likes putting on a show and, as long as it's not over the top, he thinks Jason likes it too. Likes having something that is just for him. 

He can't be melancholy for long with Jason hitting him, though. Dick shifts his grip on the bar above his head. He sways his hips to try to lessen the blow, and that only earns him a harsher one that makes his cock twitch. Half hardness has turned to full, troublesome hardness. His erection aches, throbs with all the blood rushing below his waist to injured skin. A strike of the cane comes dangerously, dangerously close to hitting his balls and even that doesn't quell the sudden lust he feels. 

Dick's never sure what it is. If it's the pain or the submission. If he gets as high on this as he does on fighting and it channels itself differently. 

Jason is asking himself the same questions. He watches as Dick goes up on his toes again and gives a shout that could do strange things to a man. Jason switches the cane to his left hand, swinging it in a low arc to hit the join of Dick's thigh and ass. He adjusts himself with his right hand, silently cursing the fact that it's gotten this far already. 

 _You can't punish yourself for the actions of someone else._ That's what he'd been told. They hadn't applied to Dick, not really, but it was easy enough to twist them that way. Some of the websites Dick goes to have become Jason's companions as well and after he saw a punishment scene with a cane...well it hadn't been a stretch to imagine Dick in that position and he'd come maybe harder than he had in a while at the thought. 

Thought was nothing compared to reality. Dick arches his back and creates a gorgeous line of his body that Jason knows he can never replicate. Jason was always destined to grow bigger, thicker than Dick was. He makes twisting away from or into the blows look like a ballet. His skin is flushed more pink than peach, golden expanses of untouched skin growing fewer and further between the more Jason hits. 

He's beautiful. In ways Jason can't hope to replicate and can't bother to be jealous of. Honeyed skin that pinks and bruises so nicely. Muscles that bunch and flex and tremble in anticipation of more pain. _That ass_ that makes Jason break rules he's set for himself because it just looks so perfect. He hits Dick harder the next lash, enjoys the cry that isn't all for show and watches the flesh of his ass jiggle and give when he taps the cane against him to further drive the lesson home. 

Originally he'd wanted to subjugate Dick. Pin him under him and prove that the favorite Robin could be humbled. The idea of Dick's humiliation had gotten him off and the reality proved to be even better. But now? He's not sure what this is. Certainly making Dick ache and bruise and _hurt_ is an incredible kind of draw but he can't discount something life affection buried in him. 

Dick gets a few hard lashes for that. Jason swings without thinking. Focuses on the weight in his hand and the contact with Dick. The way it makes him react, the way Jason knows he could absolutely _break_ him if he tried hard enough. Even after he pushed Dick past going easy on him for sentimental reasons. God, that would be good. 

The last blow draws blood. Jason blinks, jerking himself back to reality as Dick almost slams himself against the wall at the sudden rush of pain. His arms tremble, but he doesn't let go of the bar above him. There's a moment when everything feels silent and heavy. Then Jason hears the trembling breaths Dick's taking and realizes neither of them has gotten any softer.

Dick had been floating. Flying. High on the pain, high on the results of the pain, feeling that delicious ache and pull between his legs and imagining how it would feel if Jason fucked him with his ass and thighs this bruised and raw. Then a different pain had cut through the haze as easily as, he realizes, the cane cut through his skin. 

"Hnng." He can't form a real word. He's not sure if it's protest or reassurance. His toes curl against the floor and his erection twitches and when he feels Jason's fingers gently pressing around the wound he thinks he might come there on the spot. Maybe Jason would make him lick it off the wall. That thought isn't particularly conducive to holding his pleasure back, either. 

He can't see the panic or the fear on Jason's face. He only hears the soft chuckle at his reaction. It's reassuring. "You like me making you bleed?" It's obvious they've considered this before. But, honestly, they've also both seen enough blood to last them several lifetimes without bringing into the bedroom. Home gym. Wherever they choose to fuck. "Stay there," Jason orders. Dick groans when Jason flicks his cock and it's almost enough to hurt. "And don't lose this." 

That's not going to be difficult. He's concerned when Jason leaves the room but it's less than a minute he's left to linger. He lowers one arm enough to grip himself, pumping his cock as he tests his thighs for muscle damage. The ache in them makes him groan, pinch off the orgasm at the base of him no matter how difficult it is. Only Jason gets him off this fast. 

Jason returns with a sheet of bandaging, cut to size in a rough manner judging by the jagged edges. He smirks at seeing Dick masturbating. "Arms down." 

Dick obeys, groaning as he gets feeling back into his hands at the new position. Jason peels off the backing to the wound dressing and sticks it over the wound on his upper butt with little preamble. It's probably overkill but it will keep things clean if they continue. And Dick wants to continue. "I'm good," Dick says, turning to wrap his arms around Jason and mouth at his jaw. 

"I didn't ask," Jason retorts, a hand tangling in Dick's hair to tug at it gently. 

"But you wanted to," Dick teases. He feels a little loopy, but in a good way. He's grinding against Jason's leg, beyond shame, and he gives an appreciative little sound when Jason kisses him. 

"This is how you should always be," Jason muses. "Drooling and grateful to me." 

Dick pauses to consider if he really is drooling and, with a swipe of his tongue around his lips, decides it's an expression. Still, he knows in his gut that he would drool if Jason asked him to. He's not sure what to do with that knowledge. Fortunately, Jason chooses that moment to rub a rough palm over his tender skin and anything approaching thought disappears. He makes a sound he's pretty sure what supposed to be a protest but Jason just laughs. 

Jason guides him, by the hair, back to the main room of the place. Dick almost moans at how much warmer it is in here and at the softness of a rug under his bare toes. Jason guides him toward the bed and Dick nearly purrs with pleasure at the idea of something warm and soft but they stop a few paces away for Jason to strip. 

Not that he minds that, either. Dark blue eyes roam eagerly over that muscled, scarred body and he's nearly to the point of drooling over it again. He wants to put his mouth on Jason. Wants to lick every scar. Wants to mouth that trail of hair on his belly that leads to his cock and...

And _wow_ that's an intense urge to suck cock. 

Jason sits on the bed, then gets completely onto it. Dick whines and shifts from foot to foot, which only makes his thighs hurt even more but he misses Jason's touch and warmth and now he's naked and he wants more of it. "Get the lube," Jason instructs, pointing to a drawer patiently. "And then come up here with me. Dickie's going for a ride." 

...a ride. He's going to be on top. In control, relatively. Dick is thrilled as he goes to retrieve the little bottle of lubricant. At least until he works out the kind of position he's going to be in. With Jason's thighs pressed against his sore ass and working the muscles in his own legs and...

Jason Todd might be an evil genius. Because Dick is going to be hurting himself doing this. 

The idea has him hissing out, gripping his cock again until he's under control and can crawl on his knees across the best to Jason. Jason hauls him down for a kiss by his hair. "Knees spread. Keep your ass up."

Which is no trouble, with how sore it is. Jason is even careful as he dribbles lube down his crack. He puts his arm between Dick's legs, preventing him from grinding down on the erection Jason so prominently displays. One finger thrusts into him first and Dick moans, spreading his legs far enough on either side of Jason that most of his weight is on the man beneath him. 

"Can't finger you if you pin my arm," Jason says in amusement, nudging him back up and making Dick groan as he has to hold the position. But he likes the feeling of Jason's fingers sliding into him. One first, another immediately after. Slick, slick enough that Dick feels dirty and dripping with it. His cock rubs against the inside of Jason's forearm and he grinds against him with a little pant. 

"This is going to hurt, Goldie," Jason murmurs to him, meeting his eyes and from this close up, the ring of green around his pupils is almost eerie. "You sure you want to risk it?"

It being the piece of Jason's anatomy that is twitching against his belly. Even like this Dick knows it's full and hard and thick and he wants it more than he wants oxygen. He must be saying some of that out loud because he's rewarded with a soft chuckle. "I'm taking that as a yes."

"Yes," Dick repeats in a breath. "Yes. Now?" He's hopeful. Disgustingly hopeful and rewarded when Jason removes his fingers and he feels Jason stroking his own erection. 

Dick lifts up on his knees, relying on Jason completely to guide his cock into the proper position. It's intimate this way. Face to face. Dick on top. He can feel Jason shifting, feel his muscles cording up but Jason makes no other move to control what happens. There's trust in this. A sweet sort of emotion that has nothing to do with the cane marks on his ass. 

He sinks down slowly. Painfully slowly. The moment he makes contact with Jason's skin, his own burns. The current of air that hits him when he immediately lifts up likewise makes him sensitive. He can't win except that he has Jason inside him and that is, as always, out of this world. 

He can feel that Jason's struggling. He can see that look of intense concentration on his face, with his lower lip held between his teeth. Dick's not sure if he's fighting with himself to let Dick stay on top of him or not to thrust up into him. The idea spurs Dick on, lets him lift up and drop down again though he always stops short of sitting on Jason's thighs. He wants to. Wants that final bit of Jason's cock that feels like too much to take. 

He's just built up a pace when Jason takes charge. His hands grip his hips with a little more than aimless wandering and he pulls Dick completely down. Flesh on flesh. Dick's back snaps backward at the sensation and he hisses. "You bastard." That only seems to make Jason grin wider. 

Jason doesn't do it with each swing of his hips. It's only sometimes, and every time Dick groans and his cock, bobbing between them, gets that much harder. He looks for permission and Jason nods, almost imperceptible except Dick really, really wants him to say yes. He closes his hand around his cock a moment later, jerking off, and damn if that isn't one of the hottest things Jason's ever seen.

Buried in Dick, watching him fuck himself on his cock, erases some of Jason's misgivings at being flat on his back and facing his partner. Dick moves gracefully, erotically, and Jason can't help but stare at him. The way his mouth parts when Jason drags him down is exquisite and the clench of muscles around his cock is heaven. Bliss. Perfection. 

He wants to outlast him. He always wants to, but this time he's hard pressed to do so. He loves dragging Dick down, loves hearing the slap of skin on skin as Dick's bruised ass contacts his legs. "You going to come for me?" Jason asks with a smirk, trying to ignore the heat building in his own gut. "You going to make a mess because I bruised your ass then shoved my cock in it?"

Dick moans. The sound is as gorgeous as the rest of him. It makes Jason dig his fingers into his hipbones and all but force him down on his cock. He enjoys the sound Dick offers him, close to a scream. Then he's clenching in a way that if Jason didn't know better he'd think was deliberate. Pulsing around him, all but milking him, and he's transfixed seeing Dick spray his hand and abdomen with come. 

It tips Jason over the edge too. He drags Dick's body like it's a rag doll, picking him up, slamming him down over and over again, ignoring the way he twists and how his cock seems to dribble even more white each time, before he reaches his edge and tumbles over. Filling Dick Grayson with his seed is, quite possibly, one of the best things he's done in his life. 

Dick collapses on top of him and Jason allows it. Dick is still coming down, and he cracks open an eye to look at him in exhaustion. "Ow," Dick says. "My ass. My ass will never be the same because of what you did." 

He's rewarded when Jason laughs, but punished as Jason pulls out of him. He's a little raw and it requires him to move leg muscles that are definitely locked up a little bit. Jason helps him roll onto his stomach, but he whines when his companion starts to crawl out of bed. 

“I've heard something about after care,” Jason says, hesitant and rubbing the back of his neck like he's embarrassed. Dick follows his form as he goes into the kitchen and he returns with a bottle of water and a couple of warm, damp towels. One he uses to help Dick clean up, which is a little embarrassing but also pleasurable. The other he drapes over his bruising butt and thighs and Dick can only sigh in pleasure. “Epsom salts,” Jason explains. “I read they were good for this.” 

“You read a lot,” Dick notes, smiling, happy to float back in this haze now that he's pretty sure Jason won't kill him. Tonight, anyway. “It's cute.”

“Shut up,” Jason mutters. 

Dick stays the night. Jason doesn't let him move far except to go to the bathroom, apparently taking this after care thing very seriously and Dick really can't complain too much. It's morning before he gathers his wits about him enough to ask anything serious. 

“How are your talks with Alfred's friend going?” Dick questions as he sits gingerly beside the coffee table and Jason scrambles him an egg in the kitchen. Always talks. Never therapy. It made it easier, somehow, to discuss. 

Jason shrugs in that way that means he doesn't want to talk about it. “Fine,” He replies with a little shrug. “I meet Alfred for tea. It's been suggested I branch out a little more. Any suggestions for people I used to know who I don't want to punch in the throat?”

Dick actually has to consider that. “Barbara?” He offers. “She doesn't have much to do with us anymore, actually.” Which good be very good for Jason. 

Jason hums a non-committal agreement. It's as far as Dick is going to get so he starts to eat the scrambled eggs Jason's put in front of him. Jason's actually a great caregiver. Or he would be if he let himself relax into it. 

Jason's phone goes off again. It's probably the tenth time since Dick arrived. He pretends to ignore it but Dick can't help other than to cast side-long looks at Jason as he reads a text and sends a few of his own. “What's up?” He asks at last when he can no longer stand it. 

“I might be taking a little vacation,” Jason replies with a shrug. “There's some trouble I need to nip at the bud.” 

“Really?” Dick asks and swallows again around the scrambled eggs in his mouth that refuse to go down his throat. “Where?”

Jason grins. He looks like a wolf. “Gotham.”

**Author's Note:**

> Question? Comment? Request about this series or want something completely different? Drop it here or [here](https://strikeyourcolors.tumblr.com/ask) and I'll get to it! Reviews and comments always appreciated and loved. Prompts likewise enjoyed.


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